Page 14 of Second Position (Astor Hill #2)

“Does it?” My voice is tender, realizing this is a sore subject but wanting her to open up to me—needing her to. I catch the uncertainty in her eyes. Her throat bobs, her chin raising ever so slightly.

“Yes. He’s not who you think he is,” she tells me, her voice is quiet, insecurity clear in her tone.

“He has these really great moments.” She pauses as if remembering something before continuing.

“He’s been through a lot the past few years and you haven’t gotten to see the Will I know.

The one who made sure I had a friend when I was just the weird, out of town transfer girl.

” There’s a tinge of sadness in her tone that I can tell runs deeper than she’s letting on and it tells me to stop pushing.

To leave it alone, but I can’t. Not yet.

“Maybe he’s not that guy anymore,” I say. Her eyes search mine before they shutter, and I know the conversation’s over .

“Maybe,” she shrugs again, rolling her lips together as we fall into a long pause.

I recognize her need to shrug this off, the want to get back to the place we were in just a few minutes ago like we didn’t just talk about the elephant in every room she’s in.

“So why were you in Atlanta?” she changes the subject and this time I let her, taking her place in the hot seat.

I suck in a breath, remembering the phone call I had with my dad just the other week about my post graduation internship and now it’s my turn to shut down.

“A Fielder Foods thing.”

“Don’t sound too excited,” she jokes, but her eyes soften, snagging on something as she takes me in.

“Wanna talk about it?” I feel myself balk, the uncertainty of how she might respond to my change of plans sending a wave of insecurity across me.

“I think friends talk about these things, no?” Her smile, gentle and unthreatening, is like a key unlocking me.

“I’m supposed to join the company after graduation,” I say on an exhale. She nods, patiently letting me unravel my thoughts. “I just can’t picture it anymore. Not like I used to.”

“But…” she gently coaxes, understanding brimming in her eyes.

“It’s what my dad expects. And the one thing I want to do is the only thing he’s ever had an issue with.

I think he might stroke out if I tell him I’m going for the draft.

” A weight lifts off my shoulders once I say it out loud, and when I realize she’s the only person I’ve vocalized this too, I feel like we’ve been tugged closer together by invisible laces.

She smiles eagerly, her mouth spreading wide.

“Are you going to do all that early entrance stuff or just see what happens or…?” She’s excited, which I wasn’t expecting.

“To be honest, I’m not sure yet. I’m still figuring out the best way to go about it,” I admit, reveling in her reaction.

“I didn’t think I’d even try until this year.

Going pro has been a nonstarter for as long as I can remember.

A pipe dream, I guess,” I shrug, shoving my hands into my pockets and leaning back in my chair.

“A pipe dream?” she furrows her brows. “I’ve been to enough games to know you’re good. You’re really good.”

“Thought I was fine ,” I remind her of her underhanded compliment that night under the tree, just as the server slides our dishes onto the table.

“I only said that when I thought you didn’t like me,” she explains, taking a bite of her incredibly green toast.

“But now you know I do?” A smile pulls at the corner of my lips as I cut into a biscuit, her eye roll sending a shot of desire down my chest.

“Well, as your friend , I think it’s great you’re doing the thing.

You shouldn’t have to stomach someone else’s dream, even if it’s your dad.

I mean, we’re young. The world is our oyster, and all that.

” She washes her bite down with a sip of her glorified smoothie, her tongue flicking out to wipe away the bit that got on her lip, totally unaware of the way my heart rate just kicked up.

I’m enamored by the way she’s being right now.

At ease and so at odds with the girl I see on campus.

“What’s your dream then?” I change subjects, not wanting to get mired down in my problems when I finally have a chance to get to know the girl who’s been so elusive to me.

“I’m living it. I mean, the dream is just another variation of this—better roles, more prestigious companies.” She says it like it’s a sure thing, and it has me feeling electric. Her confidence is contagious, convincing me that in this moment I could do anything, too.

“What’re you dancing right now?”

“ Hopefully the Sugar Plum Fairy, but…we’ll see.” And then that confidence disappears, replaced by a flicker of doubt.

“The Sugar Plum Fairy?” I ask, wanting her to tell me more.

“The Nutcracker?” Her eyes go wide with alarm, and a laugh escapes me.

“I know the Nutcracker, Gen. I just didn’t know you were rehearsing it. When does the run start?”

“Not until the end of November. And then if I even get cast as her, I’ll be one of a few. So we’ll see what happens.”

“I’m sure you’re a shoe-in,” I tell her, not needing to see her dance to know her stubborn nature won’t let her achieve anything less than what she wants.

“How would you even know?” she laughs, shaking her head.

“Just a feeling.” I clear the rest of my plate, shocked to see she still has more than three quarters of her toast left. “Though I think you’ll need more than a few bites of vegetable toast to fuel you today.”

She holds up her empty smoothie, shaking it to show that she drank every drop.

“This was a very calorie-dense milkshake, don’t worry,” she says, smiling as she slurps the empty drink one last time for good measure.

“So you admit—it’s just a milkshake?”

“We all have our vices, Fielder. Let me have mine.” Her grin spreads wide, a dimple I’ve never noticed appearing, and it has my own smile deepening.

The way she beams at what I said has me thinking of all the things I could say to elicit this reaction over and over again.

“I should probably head out.” She makes no attempt to leave, though, just watches me, and I can sense she doesn’t want this to end as much as I don’t.

“Come to my game,” I blurt out, watching as her face turns serious.

“I was probably going anyway…” She nips at that bottom lip, again—an adorable nervous tick.

Of course she was . But I rarely see her, and when I do, she’s sitting in some deserted corner of the stands.

“I’ll save you seats. Bring Jean, just—come. It’s more fun when you could get hit in the face, anyway,” I rationalize, needing, for the second time this morning, for her to say yes to me.

“I guess it would be the friendly thing to do…” she says, sliding out from her bench.

“Text me.” She lingers at the table for a moment, holding my gaze as her lips curve in a soft smile.

And there’s this barely imperceptible shift between us—I feel it in my solar plexus, or in the ether, or deep in my bones, but I feel it—before she turns around and walks out the door.

There’s a part of me that knows she’s not ready to admit that something has changed, is changing between us.

Just like there’s a part of me that knows I should be running as far as I can from this, if her behavior at Vida’s was any indication.

But now that I’ve glimpsed this Gen—so different from the icy persona she usually has on—I don’t want to stop seeing her. I can’t staunch the urge to know her .

But I have to remember what this is for her, have to get my thoughts under control. Because Gen is no more available than she was before that bonfire, even if her gaze tells me she could be mine.